


Faliciou Selphim

by Queenie18



Series: SH Bingo 2020-2021 [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Alec is Parabati with Raziel, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angel Alec Lightwood, Angst, Future Fic, Happy Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Immortal Alec Lightwood, Immortal Husbands Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, M/M, Raziel is a baby, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Rituals, Soulbonds, Winged Alec Lightwood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:08:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27768049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenie18/pseuds/Queenie18
Summary: And so, he stares at the roaring fire, the colour the inkiest black. It burns with no fuel, no smoke pulses from its flames. It flickers with no wind. It is large, towering at thirty feet tall and there is a vast heat radiating as he nears the embers. Alek’s hand is tight amongst his.“In this ritual, you will submit your immortality, your Angelic form so that your soul may find refuge in its new mortal body.”Raziel waits, tears spilling down his cheeks, hands trembling as the fire beckons him within its depths. The heat is overwhelming.“Do you accept?” The voice asks.—In which, Alek is Raziel’s parabati and an Angel. The revered creator of the Shadowhunters participates in the Faliciou Selphim, the ritual to descend as a mortal Shadowhunter.
Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood (background), Raziel (Shadowhunter Chronicles)/Original Character(s)
Series: SH Bingo 2020-2021 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2031352
Comments: 7
Kudos: 96





	Faliciou Selphim

**Author's Note:**

> Square Filled: Rituals
> 
> TW: self mutilation, mentions of suicide and violent acts that are essential for the ritual.

_**Alek**_ brings it up when they’re having a quiet night in at their loft.

Magnus is running his hands through his Angel’s hair, raking his fingers through the tendrils that are far longer than they had been when he was a Shadowhunter but no less silky. Alek sighs happily, nuzzling into Magnus’ stomach like a content cat.

“That feels wonderful,” Alek purrs as Magnus scraps his scalp with his fingernails.

Magnus feels his lips twitch upwards without realising. Moments like this are something he will always cherish. They both always have their duties in their own communities, even if Magnus gave up the High Warlock of Alicante position to Max many years before. Alek’s Angelic duties sometimes take him away for longer than Magnus likes. Cat may call him a clingy monster, but even the two days they spend apart is far too long for him.

Over three hundred years ago, his old self would have gaped as they watch him snuggle with one of the most powerful Angels in existence, Raziel’s twin, like it is an average Saturday night. 

But that is what makes their relationship so wonderful. They may be powerful and revered figures, but at the end of the day, they are simply Aleksandria and Magnus. Not just husbands anymore, but Soulbonded too.

Magnus hums a tune under his breath as he caresses his love’s cheek, ravelling in the softness of his immortal skin.

“Rackriel wants to take the ritual.” Alek says suddenly.

Magnus blinks and pauses his movements against Alek’s jaw, “What?”

Alek opens his eyes, the blue twinkling as he peers at Magnus’ face, “He wants to descend, as a Shadowhunter, like I did.”

“I thought he didn’t want to.”

Alek furrows his eyebrows in an adorable gesture, “So did I.”

Magnus makes a noise in the back of his throat and continues his exploration, feeling the shiver Alek lets out as he rubs over the particular sensitive area just below his Angel’s ear. Magnus smirks, blood heating at the implications.

“Did he say why?” Magnus asks carefully.

His wariness is to be expected. Magnus has grown up in a world where the beloved Angel Raziel was seen as to as a god by a race that wished for his extinction. He saw the Angel as a father to a group of prejudice, racist and homophobic warriors who believed themselves superior. He expected that the worshipped Angel would be much worse.

And then Aleksandria had miraculously appeared before him, alive and well long after his death. The events that had followed still make Magnus fearful even now. To find out the man he had married, loved and watched grow old was actually an Angel, but not only an Angel, but one of the most powerful, equal to the Angel Raziel himself, had been terrifying, ground-breaking.

And then he had met Raziel. And he had spoken to him, watched a being that could smother Magnus like a bug open his heart out to a Warlock he, no doubt, should despise. And Magnus found he could never hate him, not after he brought back the love of his life. Forever. For eternity.

If anything, Magnus saw a remarkable amount of similarities between Raziel and Jace, Alek’s old parabati. It’s something Raziel despises and whines about on several occasions as he has Sunday brunch with him and Alek. But secretly, Magnus knows that he is grateful that Alek sought someone out so similar to him even when he had no memory of his brother.

Besides, from what Alek has told him, the arguments between Raziel and Jace are legendary. They both hold competitions over who Alek loves more. Magnus only wishes he could see it, but, sadly, Angelic laws forbid him from seeing anyone who has died and passed on.

Even despite the leniency that meant Alek could be his Soulbond and not fall to a Greater Demon. A fact that still chills Magnus to the bone at what Alek risks by loving him.

Alek speaks as he thinks this, “Not really. He mentioned that he thought it was ‘time’, whatever that meant.” He pauses to moan lowly as Magnus rubs over his neck, where his rune once laid. His glare is weak and Magnus grins wickedly at him in reply, “Stop that. I’m trying to to have a serious conversation here.”

Magnus sniggers but presses his thumb just ever so slightly harder, rubbing his skin erotically, “And I’m listening, darling.”

“No,” Alek says but whimpers in his throat as Magnus moves his fingers lower, to graze his nipples, “You’re not.”

“It’s your fault for walking around topless with all that lovely skin on display, Aleksandria.”

“And it’s not yours that all my t-shirts are conveniently missing?”

“I have no idea what you’re insinuating, Angel.” Magnus says innocently.

His fingers circling Alek’s nipple aren’t so much.

Alek rolls his eyes in exasperation. “I don’t know why I expected any different.”

Magnus pouts at him and teases his fingers along those delicious abs, the heat low and growing in the pit of his stomach. He feels himself harden as Alek shuffles just over his lap, his head dangerously near.

“I’m listening.” Magnus promises but doesn’t stop the twitch of his hips in interest as Alek moves sneakily closer. 

Alek sends him a look but responds, “I think he’s growing bored, in the best of words. He hasn’t found his Soulbond yet, which is unusual and I know he’s envious of us even though he doesn’t show it.”

Magnus smiles softly. “Is he being serious about it?”

Alek grimaces and reaches out to curl his hand around Magnus’ waist. Magnus watches him curiously, his arousal forgotten as something flickers in Alek’s eyes, dulling the fire within them. He isn’t entirely sure he wants to hear what his love has to say.

“The ritual we take, it’s, it is,” Alek stumbles, sucking in a breath. “It’s _brutal_. To even suggest taking it, I know he’s serious. Not many of us can gather the courage to undertake it. It nearly destroyed me, and it would have if it weren’t for the thought of you.”

Magnus feels his heart pang with the sheer thought of how much love Aleksandria has for him, how much Alek has been there for him, at his lowest points, his highest, always there. It’s a magnitude Magnus doesn’t take for granted and won’t ever. To be loved like that - it’s a reverence, a worship. It’s beyond human capacity.

“Do I want to know what he has to do?” Magnus cautiously asks.

Alek smiles at him, but it doesn’t meet his eyes. “No, I don’t think you do.”

“Tell me anyways.”

And so Alek does as the fire crackles warmth in the distance.

  
~*~

  
_**Raziel**_ walks up to the alter, naked but polished clean with his wings flared out wide in a showy gesture. 

He is dressed only in his natural form, his skin scrubbed and washed within the holy waters of the river Lyn, the true one, not the one within Idris. He is at his most pure state, meant to be rid of external influences as he undergoes the ritual.

He had once promised he would never take this walk, never sacrifice his entire self to become one of the beings he had meticulously created hundreds of years ago. Anyone could attest to the multiple times he swore it.

But now Raziel walks up the stairs to stand upon the alter made of pure adamas. He is in a large hall, a room lacking any sort of gaudy decoration, the roof open to let him the natural light of the Heavenly Lands. Behind him sits the many of his brothers and sisters, watching him as he takes the ritual to descend as a Shadowhunter.

The room is guarded by two large waterfalls, however, the water falls upwards toward the sky as gravity is a concept in the Lands. Raziel watches the empty wall before him, setting his shoulders firm as he waits for Alek to arrive.

When he was asked who would Guide him through the Faliciou Selphim, there had been no doubt that Alek would be his as Raziel had been Alek’s once. It is a position of the greatest trust, to allow the Angel to watch over and guide you at your most vulnerable, to help you walk safely as you are stripped of your very self. And he trusts no one more than Alek.

And he turns his head when there is a slight splashing sound, to his left. Someone wades through the waterfall, water falling of him as he makes his way toward Raziel.

Alek walks up slowly to Raziel, his black wings proudly displaying jewellery suitable for his rank, gleaming like stars amongst the ink of the sky. In his hands lays a sword, the blade of it curved ever so slightly and gleaming gold. Raziel can make out old etchings upon the metal. He remembers the day he carried it for Alek, in this very hall, his brother gazing at it in a sort of dazed wonder, hoping that the Warlock he had loved would find him in his next life.

Raziel feels the nerves squirm uncomfortably in his stomach. He cannot feel that same hope. There is nothing out in the mundane world for him to yearn for. No lover, no guardianship. Nothing. But he doesn’t want to back out of this now. His instincts tell him it is time. 

_Time for his own story? Time for love? Time for his own legacy?_

He doesn’t think he’ll ever really know.

Alek moves to stand at Raziel’s side so they are face to face. His brother smiles lightly in reassurance, his blue eyes shining with pride. Raziel finds himself unable to return it.

“It’ll be okay.” Alek whispers under his breath.

Raziel flattens his lips and says nothing.

“Angel Rackriel, of the Light and Mortals and father of the Shadowhunters.” A voice booms in utter authority and the hall is eerily silent, not a wing shuffle to be heard. Raziel’s skin trembles, “You are here today to perform the _Faliciou Selphim_ , your descent as a Shadowhunter.”

Alek nods encouragingly at him, smile so gentle and warm, blue eyes the colour of flame that Raziel’s voice is confident as he replies, “I am.”

“And you willingly agree to your descent?”

Raziel nods though it’s not necessary, “I do.”

“You are aware that you may descend once, and once alone.”

“I do.”

“And you willingly sacrifice your immortality, your Grace and wings to us?”

“I do.” He says after a few seconds, his voice shaking lamely, eyes sharp and Alek shuffles closer in a movement of support. Raziel doesn’t even begin to imagine the many watching this, watching his fall after he declared many years ago to his family that he would refuse to make.

But he sees how happy his brother, the Shadow and Defender, has become and perhaps it is selfish, but he wishes for even a small fraction of that wonderful love he and Magnus share.

He wants to love like Alek. _By the Creator_ , he wants to feel alive even if it’s temporary. He wants his Soulbond and his body tells him it is not here in the Heavenly Lands, with his fellow Angels. They are down on the mortal lands. He knows they wait for him.

So he tilts his head higher and holds himself proud. Let them gossip after him, mock him and ridicule him. It will be worth it.

It _has_ to be worth it.

“Angel Rackriel, we shall begin the first ritual.” The voice gives a few seconds as though holding it out for a dramatic effect, “Kneel.”

And so Raziel does, his silver wings spread out behind him, the feathers fluttering to the floor. He looks up at Alek and no words are passed between them but Alek still understands him perfectly, eyes heavy with wisdom. Alek bows his head to him once and moves to stand behind him, his back bare and vulnerable.

He holds his wings stubbornly still to show no fear.

“In the _Erikiv_ , you will give up your wings, your physical status as an Angel to declare yourself as fragile as a mortal.” 

Raziel closes his eyes and his hands clench at his sides. He refuses to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing him fearful. He is Raziel. He is the Light. He does not cower for anyone. And he will certainly not cower for this. If he has to pass out before he shows weakness, then so be it.

“Do you accept?” 

Raziel tilts his head up to look as if he’s looking down at them all, “I do.”

“Then, Angel Aleksandria, the Defender of the Shadows and protector of the Downworld, chosen Guider of Rackriel,” Raziel’s back goes rigid, “You may begin.”

Raziel refuses to look away from the crystal white sky as he lifts his right wing in the air, and he knows it is an impressive sight. The silver of his feathers catch the light of the room, gleaming like polished metal. The feathers are rigorously cleaned and groomed and not a spec of dirt contaminates them.

Behind him, Alek stares at the strong picture Raziel makes. He sits on his knees like he is perched on a throne, platinum hair unbound around his shoulders. He has no doubt his brother is terrified. But in the majestic awe of his image, he shows none of it.

Alek grips the hilt of the sword, feeling it hum under his hands as he raises it in the air. He has to take a breath as he plummets it downwards, cutting through the bone that connects Razriel’s wing to his body. He hears nothing as it cuts cleanly through. There is only the soft hiss of the runic magic from the blade dispersing through the air.

The wing falls with a gentle thud upon the ground.

Raziel takes one heaving breath, his back starting to bleed clear, pure spirit through the wound. Alek wants to turn away from the horrendous sight. He doesn’t understand how Raziel had done this to him. He doesn’t know how he’ll ever forget this image.

Alek watches as his left wing is raised, the movement less eased and confident as the feathers twitch ever so slightly. Alek yearns to pet them in order to reassure them it’s all okay. But, instead, he moves the sword again, it’s archaic magic weaving through his hands to stabilise him as he slices through the second wing with a sickening slick sound.

Raziel barely flinches as it joins the first on the floor, his spirit beginning to seep through the feathers, making them tacky, the colour alike to an opal stone. The floor is becoming coated within it, Alek feeling the sickly warmth ooze amongst his bare feet.

The hall is ominously silent, apart from Alek’s heaving, as they wait for the next ritual. Alek thinks it is worse to be where he is now, then at Raziel’s position. When he was there, he could remember the agony of losing his wings, the burning ache that coursed across his back. But he couldn’t see it. Couldn’t comprehend it. There is something incomprehensible at seeing someone he loved so dearly suffer at his own hands. 

Perhaps that is why the ceremony is Guided by someone very precious to the descending Angel. Someone who won’t crack at the damage they caused.

Alek wants to apologise to Raziel for making him do this so many years ago.

“The first ritual is passed successfully.” The voice booms once more and Raziel sinks into his body as he welcomes the relief. There is a cold air at his back where his wings had sat once, so proud and strong. He feels lost without them. The spirit spills from his slowly closing wounds but he can barely feel the pain, feeling so disoriented from the world around him, “The second, _Runvin_ , will now commence. The removal of your Grace as the symbolism of losing your theological essence of an Angel.”

Raziel wants to weep as he considers this next ritual. His Grace is fundamentally who he is, it is the magic that runs through his bones, it is the essence of his power, it is the embodiment of everything he has been and will be. To lose it will be the mundane equivalent to suicide. His eyes feel strangely wet.

But before he can even recover from the thought, the female voice speaks again, coldly, monotone, “Do you accept?”

Raziel has to bite his tongue as he almost says no. To say no means he’ll never regain his wings. Never regain his honour. He’ll be nothing. And as Alek has always said that he is by far the most stubborn being he has met. So he’ll fight through this. He just has to remember what is waiting for him.

That tiny, small slither at a chance of being loved even if just for a day, or a mere second.

“I do.”

Alek inhales sharply behind him, but Raziel waits impatiently as he feels his brother’s fingers dance along his skin, so light they’re barely there. He feels the blunt edge of Alek’s nails run through his hair in a comfort before it slithers around him, like a noose around his neck, to rest where his pulse lies, Alek moving alongside it. Perhaps it makes Raziel truly weak, but he refuses to look up and see the pity in his brother’s eyes. So, his gaze stays on his bare lap.

“You can do it.” Raziel barely hears Alek murmur in encouragement before Alek’s hand suddenly feels as though it plunges through the barrier of his skin and muscle and bone to his very soul deep within.

And then Raziel lets out a pained, horrified cry as he feels something rip out of him.

The world outside fades away.

There is a blinding flash and then sudden darkness as Raziel stares at nothing, suddenly blinded. He wants to reach out, to grasp something but as he tries to move forward to attempt to and find what he’s so desperate to search for, he finds himself paralysed. He wants to fall, to cry, to collapse but he can’t.

He’s stuck, he’s stuck. Raziel, the father of the most fearless warriors upon Earth feels for the very first time absolutely and completely petrified.

Something flickers in the distance. It’s small at first but then larger, the light dancing amongst the shadows as daring and stubborn as himself. It’s colour is a brilliant silver, but there are shades of sapphire and gold and ruby that seem to curl around it in an almost hug.

He wants to embrace it. 

The light morphs before his vision, shifting from an ambiguous blob into something concrete. Raziel stares, wide eyed, his throat closed from the sheer intensity of his emotions as the light wanes between visibility, becoming a body like shape with fingers and hands and arms, even shoulders and a head. Though it displays no eyes nor mouth nor nose, Raziel feels the prickle along his spine as though it’s watching him.

They stand in that abyss, facing one another in a weighted quietness. The light doesn’t move anymore, it’s close enough that he can see the stark clearness if the body, the slight shimmer of colour amongst bleak, emotionless silver. And inside his long motionless beating heart - Raziel feels a mournful pang.

This being, this mass of light and beauty - this, this is his Grace. It is him without a body, without a tether to any mass, stripped bare. Raziel’s kneels buckle with the thought.

He doesn’t know what to do. It’s a jarring realisation. Since he was created, Razriel has never had moments were he doubted himself. There were moments of regret, of course, the most recent being removing that Fairchild child’s memories. But he always, always knows what to do. It is simply how he is made. Raziel is the sure one, Alek is the one that doubts. Two halves of one soul. Perfectly balanced.

But now, _now_ , he gapes at something he cherishes above almost all else. 

And he feels so utterly stuck.

His Grace must feel it because the light radiating around it dims, fading into the dominance of the dark. Raziel lets out a cry but finds he can’t say anything. He can’t speak. He can’t move. Razriel is useless as he watches everything he thought he was disappear like the snuffing of some stupid, pathetic candle.

He wonders whether this is what death feels like.

The Grace stays adamantly focused upon him as it dies like a setting sun, only far less grand and there is no hope of a rising new day, nothing beyond the threat of the infinite night and all its negative connotations and symbolisms. And so, with a foreign aching heart, Raziel feels strangely like a newborn as he watches one of the last pieces of his Angelic nature be taken from him as a result of his own selfish wish.

There’s barely a glimmer and then.... _nothing at all._

Raziel watches the shadows consume with a blankness in his chest. There, right where he should be full, in a part of his mortal body that he can’t explain, he only registers a clawed, bloody, open, gaping hole. It’s sinister, that emptiness. He wonders how Alek had done it so many years ago. How he managed to tear apart himself so thoroughly and still fight beyond it all. 

The Shadowhunters, his flawed, and beautiful children worship him as though he is a god. He thinks that if they saw him now, the disappointment would be immense. Here, the revered Angel, a creator in his own right, is unable to function without everything that makes him so very special.

He isn’t quite sure it’s worth it anymore. He certainly can’t remember why he chose this barbaric path.

Then a voice speaks next to him, though there is no one there, “Come back to me.”

Raziel’s eyes can’t move. He can’t move. A divine reduced to a statue. He’s going to die here.

“Come back to me, _Rackriel_.” 

Raziel’s fingers twitch with a vast yearning to reach out and find solitude in the voice.

“Come back to me, brother.” The voice commands and the words are familiar enough that Raziel storms forward, paralyse forgotten, walking through quick sand, hand reaching outwards. He walks and walks. Sometimes runs. And he knows he’s getting closer.

He finds another Grace, this body more subdue then the blinding silver of his own. It’s colours are dark, a pooling shift but they are a multitude. In the centre of it is a powerful, bright gold. Raziel pauses before it, panting for the first time in his long life. And as he lifts his hand to place it upon where the heart would lay, his own heart echoes after its declared death.

Raziel opens his eyes, his mouth open in a silent scream as he falls forward. His fingers scratch the solidness of the floor. His face feels wet. And inside his chest, his heart starts to sing.

“The second ritual is completed.” The voice declares and Raziel sucks in an unsteady breath.

Is this how a mortal feels? This weakness, this instability, this absolute unknown. 

His skin feels tight like he is vessel within it that doesn’t quite fit right.

Alek moves to kneel by his side and then his arms reach out to curl Raziel into his brother’s body. Raziel sobs against his chest, fingers greedy as they seek out the smoothness of his brother’s skin, his coolness and silent strength. Alek murmurs praises in his ear.

“The third, _Aluni_ , will now begin.” 

Alek tightens his hold, and Raziel slumps, forgetting every thought of putting on a display of strength. He can hear in the distance the threatening crackle of flames like the ringing of a mundane funeral bell. Alek starts to whisper the words of courage and bravery to him in the Angelic language, his words rushed out as he rocks Raziel in his arms.

“You can do this.” Alek says slowly, “I’m here for you.”

Raziel sighs and then says quietly, “I’m scared.”

And to Alek’s credit, he doesn’t undermine it, “I know.”

“Does it hurt?” Raziel asks.

Alek pauses, “Momentarily.”

Raziel nods, and loosens his grip, looking up to stare at his brother’s familiar face. The paleness of his skin, the deep blue of his eyes, the crookedness of his smile. He knows that soon he’ll forget it all. It’ll be like Aleksandria never existed to him at all. And Alexander Lightwood will just be an idol in a history book.

“I’m here, Rackriel.” Alek promises as if sensing his thoughts, “I’m right here.”

Raziel laughs and lets himself soak in the aura that is his brother, his twin, his Shadow to his own Light. And while he may forget Alek, he knows that Alek will be there, watching him as Razriel had once done for him many years before.

“Let’s do this.”

Alek scoffs at the informal language but let’s go enough to help Raziel rise to his feet. He stumbles when the weight of his wings don’t stable him like he’s used to. His back is soaked with spirit, and his hair lays limp against his face, his lack of Grace making him look mortal and fragile. Raziel can feel the unknown beat of his heart, the sweat upon his forehead and the tightening of muscles overworked.

He never knew mortality would hurt so much.

As they walk together, hand in hand, toward the great fire roaring beyond them, Raziel refuses to look back at his wings. He knows he’ll break if he sees something he loves so much being left like sacrificial beasts. The next time he’ll see them, they’ll be upon his back once more.

And so, he stares at the roaring fire, the colour the inkiest black. It burns with no fuel, no smoke pulses from its flames. It flickers with no wind. It is large, towering at thirty feet tall and there is a vast heat radiating as he nears the embers. Alek’s hand is tight amongst his.

“In this ritual, you will submit your immortality, your Angelic form so that your soul may find refuge in its new mortal body.” 

Raziel waits, tears spilling down his cheeks, hands trembling as the fire beckons him within its depths. The heat is overwhelming.

“Do you accept?” The voice asks.

Raziel breaks his gaze to watch Alek. His brother looks back at him, his smile pained and eyes heavy even as he looks happy for Raziel. The Shadow mouths to him ‘go’ and Raziel grins back at him, a single tear meandering down his face, dedicated for his brother who will watch him in solidarity as he burns through a mortal life in a whirlwind speed.

Raziel stays staring at him as he says, “I do.”

“Then proceed into the flames, Angel Rackriel, and welcome your newfound mortality.” The voice replies.

Raziel squeezes Alek’s hand once, savouring it’s familiarity and lets go. Alek flattens his lips but doesn’t move. He turns to face the fire once more, the flames flickering out toward him, like arms clawing through the air to pull him to their violent embrace.

Raziel takes a deep breath and moves into the heat, closing his eyes.

The first touch is pure agony. It scalds through his skin, bubbling his spirit up as Raziel lets out a scream of horror. It burns and burns and burns. His eyes flare open wide as he stumbles further in, the heat curling through his mouth, chocking him. He shakes, unable to stop screaming as he burns away. It rips through his face, his heart thrashing in protest in its cage.

His skin flakes away, his limbs dropping into ash and Raziel falls to the floor, crying and burning as the flames claim him as their own. He lets out a meek whimper and then fades away. An Angel into a mortal. Strength to cowardice. Bravery to fear.

Angel Rackriel dies amongst those eternally burning flames, his brother sobbing on his knees as he watches the flames dim until they are barely a flicker.

No body remains.

  
~*~ 

  
**_Twenty years later..._ **

_**Rebecca**_ rolls her eyes as her parabati flirts with a pink haired Werewolf as they waited for the Unseelie representative for their weekly cabinet meeting. Their relations are still tense with the Unseelie, despite the lose of disctimation between the other races over a century ago.

Though if Raz continues as he is, he may just bring that hatred back in full force.

“Raz,” she scolds, pulling away from the woman as he winks unashamed at her, the woman in question frowning at him in disgust, “can’t you keep that shit in your pants for two seconds.”

Raz pouts at her like the bastard he is, “She was pretty.”

“You said that for the Vampire who visited the institute yesterday.”

“Yeah, and he was remarkably pretty too.” Raz says with a shrug, leaning against the table with a cocky tilt of his hips, “You know I can’t resist pretty people, Becky.”

Rebecca grinds her teeth, “Can you even take things seriously for one fucking meeting?”

Raz seems to question it, pulling his face into a stupid expression. Even through Rebecca is firmly not attracted to Raz, he is her family, she has to admit he’s beautiful. He has long platinum blond hair is pulled into a bun at the nape of his neck and his grey eyes are strangely expressive. Sadly, however, he has the Herondale infamous attitude to the boot.

“ _Nope_ ,” he says at last, sticking his tongue out at her.

She sighs in resentment and chooses to ignore it. She has been for the last sixteen years they’ve known one another, and certainly the last four they’ve been parabati. A decision she still widely regrets in moments like this.

That’s what you get when his parents name their child after the bloody Angel Raziel. _What were they thinking?_

Rebecca is pulled out from her thoughts as the doors of the London institute are opened wide, someone strolling with a stance alike to a graceful prowl. Her eyes widen as she takes them in. They have skin the shade of dark blue ink, their eyes a pure white. Their royal blue hair is long and glossy, braided several times by the front of their face, revealing two pointed ears. 

They dress in the standard uniform of the Unseelie, scaled armour that runs along their body, light enough for easy movement. Two swords are strapped at their back, their dark hilts peaking above their lithe shoulders.

She steps forward without thinking about it, her hand raised for them to shake, “Welcome to the London institute, thank you for agreeing to the cabinet. My name is Rebecca Branwell but please call me Rebecca.”

The Unseelie shakes her hand, his skin strangely silky. Their voice when they speak is rusty and low but surprisingly warm, “Pleasure to met you Miss Rebecca, my name is Luvi, our king’s personal advisor.”

Before she can reply, Raz steps up by her side, and she moves to stare at him in annoyance. She stops, however, when she sees Raz’s gaze. It’s awed, in the best words. Awed and disbelieving with his mouth pursed open slightly as he gazes at Luvi who Rebecca notices gazes equally weighted back at her parabati.

She raises her eyebrow when she introduces him, “And this is my parabati and Head of Security, Raziel Herondale.”

Luvi chuckles at the name and it’s musical. Rebecca swears she hears Raz sigh in pleasure next to her. _What the fuck is happening?_

“Call me Raz.” Raziel says with an unknown emotion in his voice.

Luvi smiles, dark and sensual, “I think I prefer Raziel.”

Raz laughs, “As do I.”

Luvi shakes their head at the confidence but continues to smile anyways. Rebecca feels awfully like an outsider to this interaction but also she’s rather glad that there is someone, finally, who has captured her parabati’s attention long enough not to shamelessly flirt and proposition to bed them right away.

And it’s at that thought that Rebecca begins to plot, not letting this opportunity pass her.

And up in the Heavenly Lands, Alek stares down at his brother with a secretive grin, Magnus by his side.

**Author's Note:**

> Remember that fic I did on Alec becoming an Angel. No? Well this is sort of inspired by it.
> 
> And yes, Raziel would be a Herondale.
> 
> Any comments and criticisms are welcome! 
> 
> My tumblr: [MagixQueenie](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/magixqueenie)


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